Chương 7
Not because Daniel became angry.
That would have been easier.
He became quiet.
People could handle anger.
Quiet made them uncomfortable.
His younger brother, Michael, had vanished when Daniel was twenty-seven.
One evening he had left their mother's house after an argument.
His truck was found three days later near a highway rest stop almost eighty miles away.
No wallet.
No phone.
No sign of a struggle.
The investigation had lasted months.
Then years.
Then eventually became one of those cases people mentioned with a softer voice because nobody knew what else to say.
Daniel had never believed Michael simply walked away.
But he had also never found a better answer.
He folded the paper and placed it back inside the envelope.
His first reaction was to throw it away.
His second was to call the number.
His third was to hate himself for having both reactions.
The phone rang before he could decide.
The screen showed his coworker, Rachel Collins.
Daniel answered too quickly.
“Hey.”
“You sound like you answered while running.”
“I’m sitting down.”
“That somehow sounds worse.”
He almost smiled.
Rachel had worked with him for six years.
She was one of the few people who could tell when he was pretending everything was fine.
She was also one of the few people who did not immediately try to fix him.
“You finished the Park Avenue report?” she asked.
“Almost.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“I meant almost yesterday too.”
“That sentence should not be allowed.”
Daniel looked at the envelope.
Rachel kept talking about paperwork and a contractor who had tried to convince her that a missing permit was “basically paperwork magic.”
Normally, Daniel would have laughed.
Instead, he listened to her voice while staring at the three sentences in front of him.
“You’re not listening,” Rachel said.
“I am.”
“You have no idea what I just said.”
“You said something about paperwork magic.”
A pause.
“That was seven minutes ago.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“Sorry.”
Rachel became quiet.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re bad at nothing.”
He looked toward the window.
Outside, traffic moved slowly through the afternoon.
A man walked a dog that seemed more interested in stopping than moving.
A woman carried groceries against her shoulder while trying to unlock her car.
Normal people.
Normal problems.
Daniel envied them for a moment.
“I got a letter,” he said.
Rachel did not respond immediately.
“What kind of letter?”
“One I probably shouldn’t have opened.”
“That’s not a category.”
Daniel almost told her.
Almost.
But the words felt too large.
Saying them would make them real in a way the paper had not.
“It’s about Michael.”
Rachel stopped.
The silence on the other end changed.
Not dramatic.
Not shocked.
Just careful.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Daniel hated those words.
Not because they were wrong.
Because they were usually the only words people had.
“I don’t know who sent it.”
“Do you believe them?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Daniel looked down.
The envelope had left a small crease where his fingers had held it.
“I don’t know if I want to.”
Rachel exhaled softly.
There was noise behind her.
Office noise.
Phones ringing.
Someone laughing.
Life continuing.
“You’re going to call,” she said.
It was not a question.
Daniel leaned back.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I could ignore it.”
“You could.”
“But?”
“But you won’t.”
He disliked how accurately she knew him.
“What if it’s a lie?”
“Then you find out.”
“What if it’s not?”
Rachel did not answer.
She did not need to.
Daniel looked at the number again.
For years, he had imagined getting an answer.
He had imagined relief.
He had imagined anger.
He had imagined finally knowing.
He had never imagined that the hardest part would be deciding whether he was ready to know.
“I have to go,” he said.
“Daniel.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t do this alone.”
The sentence stayed with him after the call ended.
Not because it was comforting.
Because it was true.
He placed the phone on the table and picked up the envelope again.
The number stared back at him.
A stranger offering the one thing he had wanted for half of his life.
And somehow that felt more dangerous than having nothing.
He typed the number into his phone.
His thumb hovered over the call button.
Then he stopped.
A sound came from the hallway.
A knock.
Three slow taps.
Daniel froze.
Nobody visited him without texting first.
He looked toward the door.
For a moment, he considered staying silent.
Then the person outside knocked again.
This time harder.
Daniel walked closer.
“Who is it?”
No answer.
Only the faint sound of someone shifting their weight.
He looked through the peephole.
The hallway was empty.
His stomach tightened.
Slowly, he opened the door.
Another envelope was waiting on the floor.
This one had no name.
Only a sentence written across the front.
Do not call the number.
Daniel stared at the sentence until the words stopped looking like ink and started looking like a warning.
Do not call the number.
The handwriting was different from the first envelope.
The first message had been careful, almost apologetic.
This one was sharper.
The letters pressed harder into the paper, as if whoever wrote them had been angry or afraid.
Daniel bent down and picked it up.
He looked left and right down the hallway again.
Nothing moved.
The elevator doors opened at the end of the corridor, and an older man stepped out carrying a grocery bag that looked too heavy for him.
The man nodded at Daniel.
Daniel nodded back.
For a brief second, he almost felt ridiculous.
A person in his apartment building leaving notes on his floor should have been a simple problem.
A neighbor complaint.
A strange prank.
Something ordinary.
But ordinary things did not usually mention his missing brother.
He closed the door and locked it.
May you like
Then he locked the second lock he almost never used.
The envelope remained in his hand.
